


Boat

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir’s not one for ships.





	Boat

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “boat” prompt on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/179060905990/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The sea is beautiful, something that Elrond’s often longed for, but the beauty of his own home kept that desire at bay. Now that he no longer feels needed on his own shores—his lands and children come fully into their own—there’s no more need to hold it back. It helps that he’s been able to take the keeper of his heart along with him, though the vast deck of their ship is missing that ray of sunshine that Elrond was so pleased to welcome in. He spends some time above, watching the harbour fade far into the distance and chatting with the others that have come—some family, most friends. His lover never comes to join them, and finally, Elrond excuses himself, long before the sky is dark.

He finds Lindir in their shared quarters—a nice little room with rounded walls and a window that looks out across the water. Lindir is seated on the single mattress, his legs drawn to his chest and his arms around them. His open robes are strewn about his body, the loose way they might be at night or just before a wash, though it isn’t even time for supper yet. His face is buried in his knees, long, dark hair cascading smoothly down his thin shoulders, but he lifts his head when Elrond comes and closes the door. Lindir’s cheeks, usually a lovely rose, are now faintly green.

Immediately, Elrond knows what’s wrong. He’s somewhat new to these voyages himself, but seasickness isn’t hard to recognize, and his poor Lindir has always had a delicate constitution. Elrond asks, soft and hopeful that it isn’t yet too serious, “Will you come up to see the last of our land?”

Lindir frowns, which tells Elrond the answer: Lindir never likes to deny Elrond anything, but Elrond can always tell when he wants to say _no_ , and that mere implication is enough for Elrond. He drops the subject of venturing above deck and comes over to the bed—Lindir instantly shuffles aside to make room. As soon as he’s within reach, Lindir practically melts against him, leaning into his body and draping lax arms around his shoulders. Elrond scoops Lindir up and closer, wrapping securely around his slender frame. Lindir is a pleasantly warm counter to the cool breeze above. Lindir rests his cheek against Elrond’s chest, eyes a little lost.

“I am sorry, my lord,” he mumbles, sounding truly so, even though he’s done nothing wrong. “I fear I am a tad... queasy...”

Elrond lifts a hand into his hair, weaving through the long locks above his temple and brushing back. Lindir smiles at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed and his head leaning into the touch. Elrond pets him lovingly. “You need not be sorry, my songbird. I am still overjoyed to have you with me, whether it be here or elsewhere. I am only saddened that you are not feeling well.”

“I will live,” Lindir hums, which Elrond is sure of, but that’s not enough. He would’ve liked Lindir to be able to fully digest the gorgeous scenery around them, to write songs of this journey and share them with his dear friend Bilbo, to visit with their Lothlórien brethren and come to know Frodo a little better. It now seems much of that will have to come when they land again—Elrond knows Lindir won’t want to be seen by anyone else if he can’t be prim and proper for it.

Elrond loves him just fine like this: rumpled and undressed, slumped tiredly against Elrond’s body. Elrond strokes his hair with one hand and rubs his back with the other, wanting to soothe him, and that does seem to help—Elrond can see it in Lindir’s face and sense it in Lindir’s being. 

After some time, Lindir sighs, “You steady me, my lord. I feel grounded again when you hold me, as though no wind could ever blow me down.”

“It will not if I have anything to say about it,” Elrond promises. Then an idea comes to him, and he halts his motions, ending with a chaste kiss against Lindir’s forehead. “I can think of some teas that may help more—I will go see if we have the proper herbs. Then I will return to care for you as you deserve.”

“That is supposed to be my job,” Lindir murmurs, a fond laugh in his voice. Elrond gives him another kiss, this time fleeting across his lips, because he’s irresistible.

“Then it is about time I returned the favour.”

With some effort, Elrond detangles from Lindir’s arms. He guides Lindir to lie down, facing out, away from the porthole, and Lindir does as Elrond bids. He stays there, pretty as a sunrise, while Elrond goes to help.


End file.
